


Hijack

by Severina



Category: Die Hard (Movies)
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: Just how many Grubers are there, anyway?





	Hijack

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "jets" at 1_million_words weekend challenge
> 
> * * *

"I'm getting sick and tired of dealing with fucking Grubers," Matt said as he slithered beneath the belly of the jumbo jet.

"You're getting sick and tired? _You're getting sick and tired_?" John shot an incredulous look over his shoulder. "Unless I'm missin' something in your misspent youth, this is your first encounter with a Gruber. This is my third Gruber, Matthew. My _third_!"

"And what is up with that?" Matt asked. "Are you some kind of Gruber magnet? Did your great grandfathers have some kind of blood feud and the family just can't let go?"

"I'm Irish, all right? Does McClane sound like a German name to you?"

"Your great grandparents might have changed it when they moved to America to escape the Gruber blood vendetta, I don't know!"

"Jeeeezus, kid," John said. "There's no blood vendetta. This is just… bad timing."

"Bad timing? It is not bad timing that your wife just _happens_ to be on the plane that Dieter Gruber, nephew of Hans and Simon, _happens_ to hijack and ground in the middle of a deserted air strip outside of Hoboken. That is not happenstance, John. That is deliberate planning!"

"She's not my wife," John muttered over his shoulder before coming out of his crab-crawl to plop his ass down amongst the weeds growing up through the cracks in the old tarmac. "Hand me the screwdriver."

"Ex-wife, former lover, whatever," Matt said as he dug around in his pack before slapping it into John's waiting palm. 

John spent a good minute working out the first screw to the cargo hatch in the belly of the plane before raising a brow. "Jealous?"

Matt blinked. He might have gotten a little distracted by that bicep and back muscle action. "Hell yes I'm jealous," he said when he finally deciphered the question, because _holy bad timing, lust_. "This is the woman that you spent, what? Fifteen years with? The mother of your children, the woman that you practically destroyed an office tower for—"

"Burnt up a couple three floors, tops," John corrected as he worked on the second bolt. "Insurance covered the whole thing."

"You wrapped yourself in a fire hose and jumped off a roof for her! You dangled out of a thirty some-odd story window for her!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I shot myself in the shoulder for you," John said.

"Okay, technically you shot yourself in the shoulder for Lucy," Matt said. "I just happened to be in the building at the time."

"Oughta at least earn me half a point."

"Whatever," Matt said. He sat back on his heels as John worked on the remaining bolts, then crawled forward to help lift the hatch out and slide it out of the way. The dark, tiny crawlspace looked like it could barely hold one of them, but according to the plans that Bowman had accidentally-on-purpose left on the table right after he told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to attempt to rescue the passengers of Boeing Flight 992 Los Angeles to New York City and then stomped out of the room, the passage hooked a few feet in and led directly to the cargo hold. From there it was a quick access hatch into the body of the plane.

Hopefully Bowman was successfully delaying the ransom payment, because it would really suck if the plane suddenly took off while they were bouncing around amongst the luggage. More importantly, hopefully Gruber didn't decide to off a few hostages to burn off some frustration while he waited. 

"You don't have to do this," John said. 

He'd said it before they barged into Bowman's trailer, and while they were breaking land speed records to get to the airstrip, and when they were crawling through knee high grass to get to the downed plane. 

And like he had three times before, Matt snorted. "Like I'm going to let you do this alone," he said. "We're partners, remember?"

"Never forget it, kid," John said. The hand on the nape of his neck was rough; the kiss was not. "You got no need to be jealous, all right?"

"All right."

All right." John nodded. "Give me ten seconds to get to the L, then follow me in."

"Got it," Matt said. He watched John heft himself into the plane – there was some of that bad timing lust again – and then reached out to grab at John's pants leg before he could disappear completely. "Hey," he said, "how do you know anything about my misspent youth, anyway? My juvie file is sealed!"

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Matt whispered once they'd climbed over several dozen suitcases and one oversized crate whose 'this side up' sticker was definitely the wrong way around.

"The plan?" John said. "I thought you had one!"

Matt would slap his forehead with the palm of his hand, but he was holding the handgun that he'd only gotten registered for six weeks ago and he was still afraid he might put an eye out, probably his own. In fact, he probably shouldn't even be carrying the gun because he wasn't sure enough with his aim to ensure that he'd be able to take out a Gruber minion and not some little old lady from Pasadena who happened to leave her old Dodge at home. So instead of slapping, he gaped. "Jokes? You're making jokes _now_?"

"No joke, no plan," John said. "Just the usual."

"So… kill the bad guys, save the McClane."

"Wound the bad guys," John said. He lifted a shoulder. "If possible."

"Right," Matt said. "This plan sounds very familiar."

"It's a favourite," John said. His gun was already in his hand as well, but he was holding it smoothly at his thigh. Matt knew he could bring it up and in firing position in about .0005 seconds, had seen up close and personal the damage he could do. "You ready?"

Matt's own palm was slick with perspiration, so he took a moment to switch the gun to his left so he could swipe his right hand on his jeans. Checked the safety and thumbed it into the OFF position. Took a breath. 

"Kid?"

"What?" Matt said. "Oh. Right. Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be."

Matt watched as John took his own breath before shouldering open the narrow hatch that led from the cargo hold to the narrow closet next to the galley and the first row of business class seats. The door had barely slammed behind him before he was barreling out into the seating area. Matt followed behind, his gun arm up and tracking as best he could, oblivious to the startled screams from the nearest passengers, trying to seek out the faces of a Gruber minion or two amidst the terrified expressions of the travelers.

Except. The travelers didn't look all that terrified.

Surprised, yes, to see two grubby, grass stained men stumble out of what appeared to be a clothes closet. Startled at the sight of their guns. But definitely not terrified.

Two feet ahead of him, he saw John stumble to a halt. Matt blinked, his eyes truly focusing on the sight before him now that the adrenaline rush was over.

Three minions were bent over the backs of their chairs, legs tied together with what appeared to be their own trousers, arms secured behind their backs with the hacked up remains of several seat belts. One of them hadn't been wearing any underwear but did appear to have a serious issue with nodulocystic acne, and that was truly a sight that Matt didn't ever need to see. 

Dieter Gruber himself was sprawled in front of the first row of seats, hog tied better than any rodeo calf. 

And standing over them, with one arm firmly wrapped around the strap of a semi-automatic that never wavered from Gruber's tear-stained face, was Holly Gennero.

Of course.

"Holly?"

She turned at the sound of John's voice. Long, curly hair with just a touch of grey, not a strand out of place. Impeccable makeup. Silk blouse tucked neatly into tailored grey trousers. He spent a day dealing with terrorists and looked like he'd been thrown through a meat grinder, but John's ex? She just had to change her sensible shoes into a pair of heels and she could step straight into a Vogue cover shoot.

"Hi, John. I wish I could say this was a surprise but I've been expecting you," Holly said. Her eyes flicked briefly to his. "Matthew, you're looking well. How's your leg?"

"I… it's… we just did some crawling through the grass so it's twinging a little, actually. Pebbles tend to acerbate the whole.. you know… thing. But it was okay because we wanted to help… save…" Matt shook his head, gestured toward the trussed-up bad guys. "Well."

"I learned a thing or two when I was a McClane," Holly said simply. She turned her attention back to John. "John, do you want to read them their rights?"

"Yes, dear."

Holly rolled her eyes as John started the Miranda. "I suppose Lucy's on her way?"

"John convinced her to stay with Bowman's team," Matt said.

"And by 'convinced her' you mean..?"

"Locked her in a supply closet," John said.

Holly smiled. "Good."

"Ms. Gennero? I've finally reached the federal authorities," one of the flight attendants called out.

"Good," Holly said again. "Tell them that we're going to open the doors and inflate the slides. We'll start sending the passengers out to safety and then they can come in and take charge of the prisoners."

"Roger that," the attendant answered.

Matt stepped back as Holly and her team got briskly to work. His knee ached like a banshee, he had burrs stuck to some very improbable and sensitive areas, and quite frankly he'd been immersed in an epic rewatch of all five _X-Men_ movies when the call came in about Holly and the hijacking. He was more than ready to hang up his handgun and go home.

"Okay, John?" he said. "When Hans Gruber's second cousin first removed on his mother's side decides to try something nefarious in America, we're letting Holly take care of it."

John smiled. "Deal, kid."


End file.
